20 May 2020 was the day I buried my sister. After my sister Karina’s funeral, I had gone to my mother’s house. We sat at three different points in the garden, on familiar garden furniture in the most unfamiliar of circumstances. We didn’t hug, didn’t allow ourselves any of the consolation of physical touch: we thought it would be safer that way. I walked past my neighbours’ houses; friends numbed by screentime and family dynamics, unsure how long this would all last, no access to society beyond their phones, windows open to mitigate against that lovely, lovely weather.

Source: The Guardian January 12, 2022 22:36 UTC